


my drought pools up

by porridges



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hotarubi no Mori e AU, M/M, gin!jihoon, the hnme au nobody asked for but i can't stop thinking about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 16:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16498922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/porridges/pseuds/porridges
Summary: Evergeen trees, the one ethereal night, the rare sight of his face, him, soft-spoken.Woojin will never forget it all.





	my drought pools up

The background rustling is barely audible, as if nature stops to worry for him.

Woojin is seven years old when he meets Jihoon. Lost in the forest of the tallest trees he’s ever seen, on the day the year’s summer begins, he’s too panic-stricken to whimper. His head hangs up to stare at the green leaves as if they have answers to give—as if they will care for him, but they sway wordlessly.

He feels a gently wafting breeze on his arms and legs albeit he can’t appreciate it under distress. Little Woojin is tearing up.

“Mom… where are you?” He hears the trembling in his own voice.

He collapses on a bed of grass in the middle of surrounding tree trunks, knees weak, only his tiny hands left to support his small figure from behind. Little daylight passes through the deep green of the leaves. The shadows sway on his lap. Other than that, nothing. No voice calling for him. No one. He doesn’t remember the way back. He doesn’t recall drifting  _this_  far from the rest of his family.

“Mom…” He sniffles. Woojin blinks to clear his vision and observes the setting. It’s all green, save for the umber of the evergreen trees. Courtesy of the leaves’ shade, it’s dim enough for an air of serenity to allow itself to surround Woojin.

He hears a twig snap.

He freezes. An uneasy pause follows.

“Hey, shortie!”

Woojin sniffs one last time before searching for the source of the voice.

Once his eyes settle on who he’s sure to be a human being ( _finally, thankfully_ ) hiding behind one tree, hastily, excitedly, he crawls forward. He spots half of the person’s figure peeking out from behind the trunk.

“Mister!” he yells. The man—or boy—seems to be taken by surprise, from the way he recoils. “My mom… I..”

It doesn’t take much for him to give up talking when he’s choking up.

The man is in loose faded blue jeans and a white shirt. He’s wearing a worn out pair of rubber shoes underneath the baggy pants and—

he’s a great mystery.

Woojin can’t see his face; it’s hidden under a mask molded with fake ears stretching up to form the shape of a white rabbit’s head. A small upside down triangle is painted on the center to represent its nose.

However not verifiable, anyone would be sure that the male is young in age. Judging from the absence of wrinkles on his smooth pink-undertoned skin, he looks at most 20 (but seven-year-old Woojin can’t tell, nor does he care). Woojin can see only his tousled jet black tresses, which enshroud the band holding the mask in place.

As Woojin stumbles up, his gaze falters momentarily to the fleeting feeling of jelly legs but lands back on the man when he regains his balance. He is what any other kid would be:

Curious.

When he looks up, the other’s hand on the bark noticeably stiffens. After a short-lived pause, the person takes a few steps forward, his stance awkwardly straight (conspicuously, too, due to the broadness of his shoulders). For some reason, he’s armed with a twig.

“Wha-what are you doing?” Woojin asks.

He stops in his tracks. “What?” the person asks softly, confusion in his voice.

(It’s distinctly the kind of timbre of a fresh high school graduate.)

The mysterious fellow then faces the thin short piece of wood he holds as a weapon in realization of what the small boy is referring to (but of course, Woojin can’t tell which way he’s really looking). “It’s just a stick. Calm down.”

Woojin does not know what that means.

He tilts his head to scratch the side of his neck, because the clumsy way the other says it exposes that he isn’t someone to be intimidated by.

And with the fact that Woojin is usually extremely shy around strangers long forgotten, the child runs up to him, his small footsteps landing with thuds along the way, and he excitedly tugs at the older’s plain white shirt.

He doesn’t let go even if the guy jerks backward at the sudden contact. The older male throws his arms up in panic, as if he is scared of being touched, until he remembers what he has in hand.

The side of the rough twig is flicked on little Woojin’s forehead and he jumps back. “Ow!”

“Sorry! But don’t  _touch_  me.”

 

 

 

The person decided Woojin may hold on to the other end of the twig as he guides him on his way out through the evergreens. As they stroll in silence, Woojin takes the time to compare their hands clasped on opposite ends. The enigma’s hand is three times bigger and pinker than his (maybe because his own is covered in forest mud anyway).

Even with brittle fingernails at the end of the fingers, Woojin thinks the bigger hand enveloping the stick looks delicate.

“Here.” says the man, coming to a stop.

Beyond them is a path to an opening.

“What’s here?”

“What?” the man asks, not quite expecting the reply.

“My new home? I’ll live here now? Wow.”

“No. Um.” The masked man scratches his nape. “Go straight. You will arrive at the place where your parents probably are.”

“I’ll… I’ll find my parents?”

“You’ll find them, little guy.”

“You won’t go with me?” asks Woojin, wariness detected in him, yet his expression is blank.

“Can’t.” The person lets go of the twig first, so Woojin’s arm falls. A chuckle escapes him, but perhaps Woojin does not notice. “Don’t  _worry_. You’ll find them.”

Even if he does not wish to part with the enigma, Woojin slowly makes his way down the path.

“Wait!”

Woojin halts, looking back in surprise.

“Don’t come back here. Got it? If you do, you’ll get lost and never find your way back.” The young man’s voice is relatively low and soft, as if he hasn’t spoken as much in centuries. “You’re lucky I found you.”

Silence ensues.

The corners of Woojin’s lips turn up.

Woojin breaks into a wide grin that reveals his one-of-a-kind snaggletooth and says, “Bye! See you tomorrow!”

The cheeky expression of a child who wants something and is resolute about it. He waves before bouncing down the path.

The mysterious fellow doesn’t move an inch even as the small boy vanishes out of sight, stunned.

 

 

 

Woojin did not expect to find the same person idle where he left him the next day. He carries a paper bag full of clean strawberries with him as a thank you gift, which he initially was not sure would find its way to its intended recipient. He meant only to visit and leave it over the stone steps, hoping the man would later find it and enjoy its contents, but he gets more than what he had expected.

Woojin can’t hold back his genuine smile, making his eyes crinkle. Of course, he can’t tell at all what kind of expression the person across him is wearing, but needless to say, the other sees him.

The man’s exhale is heard from Woojin’s standpoint. “You came back.”

For sure, he was waiting for Woojin.

“ _Hyung_ , you… waited for me?”

“I told you not to come back.”

Woojin pouts, then meekly holds out the bag at hand. “I just brought strawberries. I’ll go away once I give them.”

“You…” The man sighs.

He pauses.

“ _Hyung_ …” the man repeats under his breath, seeming taken aback. After a click of the tongue, he says, “Just call me Jihoon.”

“You’re older than me.” Woojin states, as if it is an unknown fact. The sound of the new name to Woojin goes in one ear and out the other the first time Jihoon mentions it.

“Jihoon will do.” Jihoon repeats.

Woojin takes the roughly-done introduction as a sign that he can scramble toward Jihoon and let his tiny welcoming arms fly forward to hug him.

He doesn’t manage to find the other’s clothed waist. Jihoon certainly did not forget to bring the miniature branch with him, because he uses the side of it to flick Woojin’s forehead before the other comes in contact with any part of him.

“Ow! That hurt!”

“I told you, you can’t touch me!”

Woojin stops in his tracks, rubbing the swelling part between his eyebrows.

“Why not?” he questions impatiently.

The man—Jihoon—sighs. “Look,” He then faces right as if to avoid the smaller one’s gaze. “Let’s go somewhere cooler.”

 

 

 

Jihoon brings little Woojin an ice pack from who-knows-where and apologizes.

“I’m sorry I hit your forehead. Does it hurt that much?”

Woojin allows a unique whining sound to escape his nostrils as a reply.

“Right. Sorry. Anyway, don’t do it to other people.”

They find themselves sitting on one step of an old mossy stone stairway located over a steep open course in the forest. If Jihoon knows, he doesn’t say a word about why a man-made structure exists inside the forbidden woods.

“What’s your name?” Jihoon finally asks, as if it just registered in his mind that he is talking to a child.

Woojin switches demeanors in a matter of seconds. “I’m Park Woojin.” he states, glad to introduce himself to his savior.

“Woojinie,” Jihoon repeats. “Cute.”

Unwittingly, Woojin finds that his mouth is hanging open as he gapes at Jihoon, who removes his mask to bring a strawberry to his pink lips, with only a mere shadow over his features now.

Now, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to narrate that Jihoon is rather beautiful. Woojin catches the sparkle in his eye from the side, with his long lashes hanging low. Nasal bridge unexpectedly tall, tip of the nose impossibly defined. He’s lucky that Jihoon puts his mask on before looking back at him, or else he would have enough time for a gasp to make its way out of his mouth.

“What is it?”

Little Woojin stupidly shakes his head, mouth still agape.

Jihoon sighs as his head turns to face forward once again. “I’ll tell you about me, Woojin,” he begins. “You’re curious, aren’t you?”

Jihoon seems to be scanning the view in front of them, which is adorned with the scattered wildflowers, before continuing.

“I’m a spirit.” he says, drawling the word ‘spirit’ as if it sounds foreign in his tongue. “You’ve heard about us.”

Woojin blinks at the first statement.

Jihoon pauses to glance at him before he continues. “There is a bunch of us in this forest.”

Woojin’s eyes trail from Jihoon’s hair to his toes. Jihoon looks perfectly human to him.

“Ah—you’re completely safe with us, though!” Jihoon notices the wary look on Woojin’s face and assumes it means that he has scared him.

Woojin nods gently. He isn’t scared, just speculative.

“I know I don’t look like one.” Jihoon jests, bringing a hand up to fix the position of the rabbit mask over his face. “Hence I wear this mask. Don’t I look creepier with this on?”

Woojin begins to shake his head instinctively, before stopping midway to think and then resolutely nodding his head at least three times to settle his answer.

“And you shouldn’t touch me. That’s because if my skin comes in contact with a human’s, I will—“ He clears his throat. “Something  _bad_. Something unheard of will happen to me.”

 

 

 

The last day of his summer vacation unfortunately comes to an end. Little Woojin stares out the car window in a five-hour ride back to his hometown, the thought of leaving Jihoon and their secret friendship clouding his mind and being the sole cause of the gloomy expression.

“We’ll come back next summer?” he asks, dazed.

“Oh, of course we will!” his mother replies gladly and looks back at him from the passenger seat. “Did you like it here, Woojin?”

He nods distractedly, staring out the rear glass at the trees beside the road.

 

 

 

Next July, Woojin returns, finding Jihoon sitting on the exact same spot from when he waited. He smiles. The man awkwardly lifts his arm to wave, and the gesture is enough to show Woojin that he was dearly missed, too.

From that moment on, their unspoken rendezvous becomes a yearly tradition. Woojin does not fail to return the summer after that, or the summers that later follow. They come to an agreement. With his tiny pinky hooked to Jihoon’s, Woojin confidently promises to come back every year.

 

 

 

Now, Woojin is nine years old and slowly, painfully, but surely learning to resist trying to touch his friend. Because of this, often times, he finds himself only hopelessly staring when they’re together. He finds himself becoming more careful, and troubled to the point of crying in private on some nights after they part.

During this time, too, Jihoon begins to introduce him to his inner circle in the forest.

“Jihoon, this is dangerous.” Minhyun says as he nervously glances down at Woojin’s petite frame. This spirit is tall and his skin is paler than Jihoon’s, appearing more ghostly than the latter.

“It’s fine. I trust Woojin.” Jihoon smiles.

Woojin  _really badly_  wants to hold Jihoon’s hand. He fidgets and fumbles with his own fingers in an attempt to stop thinking about it, uncomfortable under the gaze of the other spirit. Meanwhile, the two taller men seem to notice that his lips are pursed while he is staring, at nothing in particular.

“Woojin-ah, are you okay?”

Woojin’s focus shifts elsewhere as Jihoon instinctively raises his arms before him in worry.

 _Jihoon wants to hold my hands too_ , he confirms in his head. Not helping. He knows he can’t do it. He can’t.

Sure enough, Jihoon freezes in his tracks, snapping out of it.

“Kid.” Minhyun sighs at the sight. “Don’t forget. You shouldn’t ever touch a spirit’s skin. Jihoon,” He gently pushes the masked man’s hands away from the younger one. He shakes his head with disapproving eyes to conclude.

“I-I won’t touch him.” Woojin manages to say.

 

 

 

“I—” Woojin stutters. “I’m sad.”

Jihoon stops walking to give the boy his full attention.

“This makes me really sad.”

“What does?”

“ _This_.” Woojin holds his palms out, gesturing to whatever  _this_  is. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t…”

“Hey.” Jihoon walks closer, and much more gently repeats, “ _Hey_.”

Before he knows it, Woojin’s tears are streaming down his cheeks one by one, and his wrists shoot up to wipe them quietly.

It gets harder for the boy when Jihoon bends down right in front of him. Woojin finds himself staring right into the face of a bunny rabbit.

“You don’t hurt me, Woojin. You won’t hurt me. Being with you is the joy of my life.”

Woojin fails to notice the sharp movements of Jihoon’s adam’s apple when the young man himself tries to swallow down his cry at the sight of his young friend.

Jihoon coos when Woojin attempts to wipe his last teardrops away.

 

 

 

When Woojin tries to chase Jihoon through the woods, the latter only laughs at how quick he is in comparison to the kid. A fast runner. And it seems he has too much fun to take it easy on the younger one.

Woojin grunts, abhorring the thought of losing. Hastily, he pushes himself up from the soft bed of grass he stumbled down on to continue until he surpasses the other, not caring if he falls down on the dirt (which happens very often). But he never manages to catch up to Jihoon. His limbs are way shorter and he’s weaker, among other factors.

_When I grow up, for sure. When I grow up, I will beat you._

Because even when he grows up, Jihoon will remain the same. Jihoon will patently stay the same young man for a long time.

 

 

 

Jihoon doesn’t remember precisely how old he was when he became one with the spirits. One thing they told him was that he never truly died. The details are obscure, but Jihoon was at least told about how one day, as a human, he couldn’t find his way out, just like Woojin a few years back. He was stuck in the tranquil woods where he could have died, before the spirits had found him and benevolently decided to help.

The forest god was kind enough to grant him a new life in the forest instead, on one condition: his skin shouldn’t ever come in contact with human skin. That’s how easy it is to break the spell that has been keeping his frail soul going.

Woojin realizes: if Jihoon didn’t decide to show himself and lead the way out, Woojin would’ve become the same as him—or worse, he could’ve been left alone in eventual death. Because Jihoon saves his life every single day he visits, he swears with all his tiny being to never touch his friend. It is the least he can do to show his gratitude in its purest form.

 

 

 

He stops running around when vibrant flowers in the clearing catch his attention. Being the curious, easily fascinated one, eleven-year-old Woojin reaches out to gently rub a petal. They’re small and blue.

Woojin has never truly paid attention to the rest of the earth until now, it seems. He’s a boy who does not lose energy, who dances and engages in rough play, but never observes nature or appreciates stillness. Jihoon became the first person he’s fond of quietly observing. The one time he peered into the mask to see the shape of the latter’s face was when he realized how great the universe must be to let him be a witness to such a striking thing.

When the thought presents itself, Woojin finds himself looking behind at Jihoon’s figure sleeping soundly under the shade.

The urge pulls him away from the flowers and slowly guides him to the resting never-aging young man. Woojin can feel the thumping in his chest as he tiptoes closer and closer, afraid of waking him.

He bends down next to Jihoon, now close enough to see his stomach move up and down in even breaths. His fingers tremble as he reaches out.

_It’s okay to touch the mask, right?_

Careful not to wake him, he lifts it up. Once again, after years, Woojin observes that his features are clear even under the shadow. Defined nose, long, thick eyelashes. Pink lips that easily dampen into a cherry red.

Woojin swears he saw the man’s eyes slightly twitch. Sure enough, Jihoon gradually opens his eyes, causing Woojin to panic, backing away but not forgetting to slap the mask back on the man’s ethereal face. He sees him flinch, from how his broad shoulders jerk up.

“Hey—” Jihoon places his hand over the mask. “That hurt.”

He lifts it up once again to reveal the expression he’s wearing—one where his nose scrunches up, where he looks as if he’s just eaten something terribly sour. This is completely new to Woojin.

Before sneaking up on him, Woojin did not think things through. Now, he’s left embarrassed, regretful and frozen (partially due to the naked sight of the face Jihoon made) enough to be unable to spout out a small “sorry” just yet.

“Hm?” Jihoon notices a twinkle of blue out of his peripheral vision, and sure enough he finds a lone flower on the same spot Woojin was a second ago. “A forget-me-not.”

The small boy wishes we would never forget the name of the blossom as he hears its name. He repeats  _forget-me-not_  internally like a mantra. He decides he likes the flower.

 

 

 

Woojin is almost thirteen years old and clutched on his left hand is a crumpled paper bag holding fresh strawberries yet again. Really, for some reason the universe can’t seem to explain, Jihoon can eat human food like humans do. He can  _touch_  them.

Meanwhile, Woojin’s been growing taller, but his face is essentially still the round, squishy babyish shape and he’s still not quite as tall as Jihoon. He sports his favorite black parka on the way to the forest’s entrance. He spots Jihoon slouching over that stone that was built and placed at the spot at least a hundred years ago.

“Oh,” he stretches out his O’s in a lilt as Woojin makes his way towards him. “It’s Woojinie.”

“I brought more strawberries.” Says the target of the coo with a straight face.

 

 

 

“Woojin-ah,” He decidedly says. “Let’s be together forever.”

Seizing his fidgeting with the petals of the small flower he’d earlier picked up, Woojin nods in his place, because he knows Jihoon can see through the corners of his eyes. “Yeah.”

 

 

 

“Where’s the kid?” inquires Sungwoon.

“Oh,” Jihoon responds. “He can’t come today.”

“Come to think of it, he hasn’t missed a day until now, hasn’t he?”

“I suppose not.”

The fairy, shorter in height, with blinding red hair and red lips emerges from the shadows on the branch he settles on as he peers over at the forever-younger male. There is a pause before he decides to utter out something else.

“Worries aside—I mean, I don’t usually particularly care but—I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“I’m glad too,” Jihoon slight smirk under the mask can be heard through his words. “I just hope I don’t mess up, y’know?”

This is the closest to opening up to Sungwoon Jihoon’s ever been.

“Mess up? What do you mean?”

“Woojin, he’s—I’m sure it’s difficult for him to be around me. He’s a good kid. He likes hugs and hand-holding and all the things I can’t offer. He doesn’t deserve  _me_. And I just wish I can stop tormenting him like this.”

Sungwoon patiently listens to him as he goes on.

Jihoon’s voice lowers to a hush. “If he gives in or if something happens, I wouldn’t feel an inch of the pain that’d exist inside of him when I’m gone. When I’m gone… it wouldn’t matter to me at all. But he’ll… he really will remember it for the rest of his life.”

A pause, the breeze left to make all the noise in the world. Sungwoon then nods gingerly.

Jihoon lowers his head, and even more softly, says, “I don’t want to forget about him either. Never.”

Sungwoon sighs. “That’s rough, buddy.”

 

 

 

“Gloves. You know those things humans use? You put them over your hand.” Jisung suggests, his fist gliding up his forearm as if to put an imaginary one on himself. “That way, you can hold his hand, right? He’s not touching your skin so it’s completely fine!”

Jihoon scratches just above the nape of his neck. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes. Yes, trust me.” The older male lightly slaps his shoulder.

 

 

 

Woojin runs like a cheetah over the mud and greens, making Jihoon sweat profusely in difficulty of avoiding him. It’s the summer after Woojin’s first year of high school. His voice has so far lowered to an octave deeper and he’s growing taller. He’s getting quicker, as he promised when he was little.

Jihoon, wide-eyed behind the mask, looks over to see a sprinting Woojin rapidly getting closer to him. He forces his legs to bolt and his hands to fan his white shirt out in an attempt to reduce the sticky feeling of perspiration. Woojin’s yells are way too loud, rattling him.

“AIYAAAAAA—”

Woojin rushes past him, wind swept to Jihoon’s direction.

Woojin dramatically falls to the ground the moment his hands collide with the finish line; the trunk of the tallest tree in the forest. He pants, limbs sprawled above its roots. Meanwhile, Jihoon stops to catch his breath, clutching his knees for support. Both need a while before they can start talking again, but Jihoon manages a smile.

_He’s growing up, huh?_

 

 

 

Jihoon’s memories of when he was human are obscure; he’s forgotten everything.

For some time, it bothered him. Would his loved ones still be alive, cursed by the memories of their lost Jihoon? Or did he have a  _lover_  who he left behind? Jihoon frowns each time. If someone loved him enough to mourn when they lost him, he thinks he does not deserve to continue living trouble-free.

But when he looks over at Woojin, he decides it doesn’t matter. It was a really long time ago. The people in his previous life have moved on.

Jihoon decides he wishes to live in the present moment, and what the present has in store for him is Park Woojin. If he hadn’t gone into the forest long ago, fatefully abandoning his loved ones; if he hadn’t been scared to death until the spirits found him; if Woojin hadn’t entered almost a decade ago the same way he did. If none of that had ever happened, he never would have met the boy. Humanly time wouldn’t have allowed them to meet like this, anyway.

In the middle of the current hot summer, Jihoon wears brown winter gloves. He doesn’t have his mask on, wishing to face Woojin in this way.

He lays out his clothed hands in front of the other, inviting the boy to hold them.

“Where did you get those?” Woojin asks in wonder, staring at them.

Jihoon but smiles eagerly in reply. He waits, and waits… and waits.

Slowly, reluctantly, Woojin places his hands atop Jihoon’s.

Jihoon squeezes them, caressing them back and forth with his thumbs.

Woojin tears up.

Jihoon chuckles. “Feel like crying?” Though his own vision, too, is blurry from the cloud of tears threatening to fall.

“Shut up.” Woojin says, squeezing the other’s hands back.

 

☽

 

“Hey.” A deeper, raspy voice breaks the stillness.

“What?”

“You’ll see me grow old, right?” Woojin asks. “Like really… old.”

“Probably” is Jihoon’s nonchalant answer.

Woojin’s hands—they’re as big as Jihoon’s. Two flowers are delicately enclosed in one (Woojin decided to pick them up when they passed by a rich bed; just like how he did when he was a child).

With Woojin now eighteen, Jihoon cannot help but discreetly stare when the other isn’t looking. He’s amazed and… he doesn’t know what other adjective to use to put his emotions into words. He thinks he’s either happy or sad; it’s one of those. He doesn’t know if he’s happy or sad about the fact that his best friend is growing up. Beautifully, at that.

Jihoon gulps. He gulps every time he stops to marvel at what his eyes behold. The gap between their heights has shortened to only a few centimeters, if not none at all. Woojin’s adam’s apple has become more noticeable in the shadows, and Jihoon has only discovered this. The veins running down his hands are far more visible than before too. His limbs are long enough to outrun Jihoon effortlessly.

“Don’t you have things to do?” Jihoon begins. “You’re becoming an adult soon. There’s no way you’re not busy.”

“I can make time if it’s for you.” If Woojin notices how surprisingly romantic that sounds, he doesn’t bother to correct himself.

Jihoon nods right after. “You’re sure?”

A comfortable silence follows.

This is the one reason they’ve decided they will never let go of each other. Comfortable silences. It just effortlessly comes by in its best form when they’re together. They can’t seem to find it with anyone else, not with Jihoon’s forest company, not with the people from Woojin’s school. When Woojin’s with Jihoon, and when Jihoon’s with Woojin, the differences are always forgotten. They become the only people in the world. Reason seems to fade from existence, and more so does judgment. Jihoon notices Woojin’s imperfections and vice versa, but there’s no need to talk about it between the two of them.

Getting by together is enough for mutual acknowledgement of the fact that they’re closely knit, not easily separable.

 

 

 

Before Woojin stands a taller boy.

His smile is pretty. You can detect every crease it creates. They glow along with his very human-like teeth. This is how Woojin surmises the fellow in front of him has to be younger than him. He looks excited to meet Woojin. Moreover, the twinkle in his eye tells Woojin the boy knows something he doesn’t.

“You’re Woojin-hyung, aren’t you?” he asks, but perhaps he already knows the answer.

“Hey, let’s go. We’re imposing.” Jihoon says lowly. Woojin wonders why.

“No, it’s okay! I—um—I—” Woojin tries.

He feels something tug at his jacket.

Woojin turns around, only to freeze abruptly.

Their breaths mix. It’s the closest he’s ever been to the other.

_No. This is dangerous._

It seems he can’t bring himself to pull away, however. So he stands there, eye-to-eye with Jihoon.

It’s his first time to notice how chapped Jihoon’s lips are, and the blemishes on his cheeks. But he doesn’t mind them at all. Despite the situation, what is directly in front of him makes his insides warm. Because Jihoon looks so human.

The boy, Guanlin, coughs awkwardly and says, “I already knew about how Jihoon-hyung felt. Didn’t know his feelings were recipro—”

“Alright, let’s go.” Jihoon interjects.

“—cated.”

“Sorry to bother you, Guanlin!” Jihoon quickly raises his palm in apology as he walks away.

Before following Jihoon to the opposite direction, Woojin takes a last peak at the mysterious boy and receives a kind wave goodbye. Woojin waves back and takes a small polite bow (because he's sure the spirit was born years before him, anyway), still puzzled about what had transpired.

 

 

 

Jihoon decides it is not wise to fall in love with the human boy he watched grow up.

And, let’s say, he did.  _Never_  ever shall he let the other know, because it will not end well. In this scenario, it really won’t. Jihoon realizes that at some point in time, they will have to part. They can’t be together forever.

Woojin is absent on the first three days of the next summer. Jihoon confirms this after he waits by the entrance each day ‘til dusk.

On the fourth day, the tall nineteen-year-old jogs on his way and stops once the distance between Jihoon and him narrows down to only a few meters. He crouches down on his knees, panting.

Jihoon waits for Woojin, who ran to meet him on time, to compose himself.

“Sorry.” the soon-to-be adult says at last. “I-I got scouted and…”

“It’s fine!” Jihoon assures him. The mask of the white rabbit is found hiding his gorgeous face, as always. “You must’ve been busy.”

“I’m debuting soon.” Woojin mumbles, quietly because it’s no use when Jihoon would have no idea what he means.

 

 

 

The sky has darkened to reveal only the moon and the twinkling stars beyond. Woojin wonders why he’s never stayed in the forest so late at night to see such a breathtaking view in all its glory as he, with his head on the grass in the clearing, gasps softly under the spectacle.

And, no, he doesn’t forget to glance back at Jihoon, who lies on the bed of greens right beside him and under the sky. With the rare image of the other’s ethereal face stuck in his mind, Woojin imagines the reflection of the stars on his doe-like eyes. Meanwhile, Jihoon quietly observes the same view as the rabbit.

Woojin shifts until his entire body is lying on its side, facing Jihoon. Jihoon tilts his head until the rabbit is looking back at Woojin in response.

It’s like a dream, Woojin lifting Jihoon’s mask up himself to see the face and whisper forbidden words right in front of it, gaze not faltering, but that truly is what happens.

“I love you.” Woojin says after what seems like forever.

Neither look away. Not even as the doe-like eyes Woojin touches in his dreams pool up with tears once again until they glide down one after the other.

“I…” Jihoon whimpers.

He doesn’t continue. He cries quietly, and Woojin patiently waits, his eyes still fixed on the spirit before him.

Jihoon doesn’t stop crying immediately. He decided he doesn’t want to say anything, and that is what tears him apart. Little does he realize, Woojin understands. He understands completely.

 

 

 

As they near the end of that summer, a tad early, the clouds turn gray. Jihoon is the first to observe this as they stroll alongside each other under tall trees and the bare sky.

Meanwhile, deep in thought, he thinks twice about inviting Woojin to the long-awaited festival of the spirits held in the forest now that he acknowledges that Woojin’s busy schedule may be overlapping with it.

Woojin is the first to feel a droplet finding its way on his head. He looks up and notices the gloominess that overtook the sunny sky not long ago.

“Huh. Rain? This early?”

In lieu of a response, Jihoon sprints toward shelter. Woojin obediently runs after him.

It’s just like when Woojin was younger. Past trees and muddy obstacles, he chases after the spirit to whatever place the other will bring him. Before they reach the destination, it is already pouring. Both are soaking wet, but Woojin doesn’t even mind the rain dripping from his fringe to his face because he’s so focused on the other’s equally soaked back. Curiosity fills his system once more.

In the twelve summers he has been roaming around in the forest, he has been to most parts of it, but yet not every inch of it. Judging by the unfamiliar pathways they’re approaching and the new sets of ancient trees and flora they pass by, Woojin can only surmise Jihoon is not taking a new turn to a familiar place, but rather introducing him to a new beautiful spot, whatever it will be. With a roof, probably.

As soon as Jihoon steps foot in the gazebo (majestic and magical, Woojin describes it to be), he collapses dramatically, panting and shagging his wet mane as he takes off the mask for comfort.

Woojin plops down on the bench (which he then regrets, because it’s hard wood hitting his back and not cushion of any sort).

They take a pause to breathe for a while, as they always do. For a while, it’s only their heavy breathing and the surrounding rain. Woojin looks up at the high ceiling under the roof and wonders when the gazebo was built.

“This is nice.” Woojin blurts over the sound of rain, eyes still fixed on what is above him.

“Yeah. This is my favorite place too.” Woojin can picture the smirk on Jihoon’s face as he says this.

Jihoon sits Turkish style and shifts to completely face Woojin.

“Woojin.”

Woojin looks at him.

“I—actually, I’ve been meaning to say this for a while.”

“What is it?”

Jihoon looks up and takes a deep breath, trying to come up with the exact words. “All spirits who reside in the mountain gather at the summer festival held once in a decade.”

Woojin gapes at him.

“I’d like to invite you.”

“When is this?” Woojin asks in interest.

“Next year. Just when you get back.” Jihoon smiles.

Woojin’s face lights up at the thought of a fresh sort of experience with Jihoon. Jihoon heaves a sigh of relief when he sees this expression and he takes it as Woojin being free at the time of the event.

There is hesitance in Woojin’s voice when he asks the last question, however. “Am I even allowed to be there?”

Jihoon does not meet his eyes. This was his worry.

“I’m… human. I’m dangerous. Didn’t you… didn’t you say there are many others like you in here?”

Jihoon nods meekly.

“Some of them know me. I don’t think they’d feel comfortable or safe with me around.”

“But you already know that, Woojin.” Jihoon mumbles. “I trust you.”

“I—” Woojin hesitates. “I don’t trust myself.”

“But I trust you.” Jihoon repeats with confidence.

 

 

 

_“Disappear?” Woojin doesn’t completely understand._

_“Disappear as in,” Jihoon seems to be thinking of the right words to say. “I’ll vanish from the world. No, not just the world… from everything? From everything. Every piece of my soul will be obliterated. I won’t exist anymore.”_

 

 

The period of time between the last summer and the next contained the most overwhelming moments in Woojin’s life. If he hadn’t met Jihoon or been introduced to another realm earlier on, he would consider what happens as he reaches his twenty years of age his life’s most significant turning point. By now, the public is aware of his presence in the world, so each day spent outside is another day in a dark hoodie and a mask and in hoping nobody would notice that he is the young man they see on television. Each day is a busier day. More and more people are knowing about him, while more and more, he gets to know his fellow members, the Wanna One members.

He remembers exactly when it began. When that episode of his performance in Produce 101 aired one night, his own name trended on all social media platforms. He left a lasting impression, and from then on, continued to be under the watch of many.

Woojin’s hair is now a light shade of blond requiring him to bring a baseball cap wherever he goes. The day of his debut is coming up. He’s busier than ever. So busy, that he barely has time to spare for sleep, much less for a short break.

Despite that, despite the fact that tomorrow is his first day of filming, the day after is his scheduled guest appearance, and the succeeding night is a company dinner, he chooses to sneak out of his dormitory at 4 o’clock in the morning, in the same dark hoodie, baseball cap, and mask. He chooses to commute to the province. Amidst the chaos, amidst the most crucial time in his career, he has not forgotten his promise. He has counted the days until he can see nature again. He has never— _never_ —thought of breaking the promise.

In his most miserable nights, he remembered Jihoon and how time stopped when he was in the forest. His heart ached at how the memories of the latter painfully began to feel like a mere dream. So he urges himself to be reminded that it was all real. That it still is real.

He runs to the forest entrance, hoodie off and hanging on his arm. He sports a black shirt underneath.

The scent of the breeze and the evergreen trees are just how he remembers, thankfully. The sun is fully risen and he didn’t get a wink of sleep. He feels himself slipping into great bliss once more. Each step of his sneakers creates the ever-familiar rustling noise of the grass, and soon, he is where he should be.

“Hi.”

“You’re late.”

Woojin swallows and sighs.

When Jihoon takes off his mask in broad daylight for the first time in a while, he is already wearing a very  _human_ -like grin on his face that can be read as  _welcome home_ , contrary to his cold words.

“Hey.” Woojin repeats with a lopsided smirk.

 

 

 

If Woojin is to describe the spirit festival that night, it is teeming with life. With cotton candy and ice cream booths, laughter erupting from the crowd of spirits in casual wear and laughing aloud with company, and song numbers around the campfire, Woojin finds the mundane merry air contagious.

Jihoon was right, he supposes. There is nothing to worry about. It’s easy not to get too physically close to anyone, and if some attendees recognize him, they do not make it obvious.

The first thing Jihoon and Woojin do is buy their neon colored popsicles to chew on. Lucky for them, because food is the same for spirits and humans, Woojin is safe to eat it no matter how concerning the amount of artificial coloring is (Jihoon jokes about this; Woojin laughs manically).

But what strikes Woojin the most, besides Jihoon's now fully exposed facial features accentuated by the dim light that he cannot stop sneaking glances on, is seeing the spirits in their respective groups of friends, and looking back at Jihoon who doesn’t pay attention to them, Jihoon who is beside him (and now  _shorter_  than him, if he may add). After instances of them running into Minhyun, Guanlin, Sungwoon, and Jihoon’s other friends and parting with them on their way, the fact that Woojin is special secures itself in his mind. He’s special enough that Jihoon chose to save the occasion for strictly the two of them and them alone.

The campfire is purple. That is the only indication that the festival is not an event for humans. It sends a dreamy glow to the faces of each one. When those around it reach out their hands, the violet around their flesh turns into green.

When a fascinated Woojin tries to touch it himself, Jihoon yells for him to stop.

“No!”

Right. Woojin’s human. Who knows what effect those ghostly flames will have on him after he touches them.

 

 

 

Late at night, the attendees start to exit the area. Among them are Jihoon and Woojin, who nervously look down at their feet, hiding their smiles. In front of and behind the two of them are those whose excitement levels have yet to go down, whose laughter does not seem to cease.

They like it, though. They shared a new sort of atmosphere.

Woojin wishes it can always be like this. He wishes he can take Jihoon back to Seoul with him and introduce him to all the interesting parts of the world he has come to know.

He wishes it can all be normal, but needless to say, it can never be.

All the laughter becomes a series of whispers and hushed exclamations when they reach the part of the path that overlooks the black lake. He stares into it. Jihoon had told Woojin about the infamous body. With its dark water, one can never see the bottom under his reflection even though it is but several feet deep. The mountain god had warned the spirits that it is the most treacherous area within the forest. Human skin is one thing, but the black lake’s water, it has the same dangers but with excruciating pain that comes before a soul’s obliteration.

Woojin gets snapped out of his train of thought by a group of spirit children circling around them as they play tag. This is absolutely terrifying because, one, they are extremely close to bumping into Woojin, and two, one can easily slip on the dirt, causing them to roll away and into the forbidden lake. Both he and Jihoon shift uncomfortably behind them.

After someone in front of them chides them, the children calm down a bit. Peace is restored as the walking spirits—and Woojin—disappear under the trees once again, the lake out of sight. Daybreak is sensed to be arriving, but most are still far from their respective homes in the woods.

 

 

“How are you?” Jihoon asks warmly over fireflies’ light and the shuffling of their feet as they walk. “How was it?”

“I loved it.” Woojin answers. “Never thought I’d have the chance to go to this sort of thing with you.”

Jihoon laughs, though Woojin says this sadly.

“Seriously. Thanks for inviting me.”

Jihoon looks at him. “Why wouldn’t I tell you about this? You’d be dense to not know by now that I barely hide anything from you.” he mumbles quietly, but Woojin hears all of it.

“Then what don’t I know? If you  _barely_  hide anything from me?”

Jihoon has trouble responding.

“Never mind.” Woojin grins, the snaggletooth peeking out. “I’m not entitled to know everything. Take that lightly.”

“No—I…” Jihoon stutters. “There’s only one thing.”

“Hmm? What is it then?” Woojin chuckles. “The fact that you’re in love with me?” he jests.

Jihoon stops in his tracks.

It takes a little while before Woojin realizes his words really hit the spot. In time, he stops too, and looks back only to see a wide-eyed Jihoon staring at him with his mouth agape.

“Hey…” he begins softly.

Jihoon is only biting his lips now. The tips of his ears flush red.

“Jihoon-ah.”

Jihoon seems to be searching for the right words to say. The fact that Woojin is talking to him in the way he used to talk to Woojin when he was a kid further distracts him.

Woojin steps closer to Jihoon again. “Hey, It’s okay.”

He takes several steps more.

“Me too.”

“What?” Jihoon asks awkwardly.

“I said, me too. I’m tired of keeping  _feelings_  in the dark when they’ll always exist. So know this. I love you, too.”

The both of them stand there in their own little world. In the painful conditions.

They can only be so close to each other, without skin grazing another’s skin, so they just stand there, awkwardly staring at each other’s feet. They are where Jihoon expected them to be if he ever confessed. They are where they can only ever be.

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” Jihoon says first, a dry smile on his face. “That it’s like this.”

Woojin doesn’t feel the need to reply.

The active giggling of the children increases in volume yet again. They turn to the kids chasing each other around.

“Try and catch me!” one teases.

“You’re so annoyi—”

Jihoon grabs the kid’s small wrist on time as she slips on the edge on one foot, preventing her from falling from the highly elevated pathway. It is quiet for a few seconds, with the other kids gaping dumbly at the scene.

“Be careful.” Jihoon says seriously.

“How many times do we have to tell you kids to stop playing around?” an adult in the area scolds.

The girl runs off to join her friends in finally behaving, before emitting a jumpy “Thank you!”

They didn’t know, then. They had no idea. Everyone assumed those children were spirits, that they were just like the others who never found their way out of the forest and were given a second chance by the mountain god, but they were wrong.

Woojin goes pale in realization that they were human kids who stumbled upon the lively festival by chance, when before him is the sight of purple light beginning to run from Jihoon’s fingertip as the skin they pass through grows translucent, and soon, transparent. The cold sparks attract attention under the darkened sky. The spirits stop to look.

Instead of terror, instead of helplessness:

A spark of momentary freedom.

Spreading his arms wide open, voice breaking and with a wide grin a young man suffering a sad fate isn’t allowed, Jihoon yells, “Woojin-ah!”

Without hesitation, Woojin crashes into his arms, breathing in his scent, crying on his clothed shoulder, caressing his jet black hair. This is what he wanted most. This is what he has always wanted.

For a moment, just for a moment, they are allowed to have each other completely. It is only once in a fucking lifetime Woojin can hold Jihoon just like this, so he holds him with all the love that he has. Jihoon tightens his arms around Woojin and Woojin pulls Jihoon closer to him by his back.

They can’t believe this is it.

Jihoon feels nothing physically, but great sorrow for what could’ve been  _them_ , and for Woojin in the aftermath of the passing minute is the last thing his heart cannot help but feel. To him, it hurts so  _fucking_  much.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

They decide one is not allowed to leave the other for good without these words exchanged, even if choked out.

Woojin sobs on the crook of Jihoon’s neck for the first and last time as Jihoon leans on his mess of hair, taking up his entirety with his eyes closed. Jihoon observes that Woojin smells a mixture of the city and the forest. He has always wanted to smell the same. To be with him. What interrupts this finally is Jihoon deciding to plant three kisses on Woojin’s neck before cupping his face to make him look at him with their noses centimeters apart. They sniffle back their sobs.

Jihoon kisses him right there. It’s a sudden, but lovely kiss. His sweet lips softly collide with Woojin’s own. Woojin knows he will  _never_  forget it along with the wet sting of his tears mixing with Jihoon’s, and Jihoon’s breathing on him. It lasts way shorter than soulmates are allowed to share in most cases, than if they weren’t the unluckiest two in the world.

But it will be ingrained in Woojin’s memory as something that stopped time.

Woojin wouldn’t recall how long it really took before he can’t feel anything anymore. He wouldn’t be able to tell how long it took before he’s already on the ground, hugging a mere thin white shirt to his chest and sobbing on its hems, a pair of faded jeans on his lap and no one before him.

Before he knows it, it is only him, with doe-like eyes and a shy smile flashing clearly in his mind, but never in person again.

He’s  _gone_.

What pains Woojin the most is the scent that didn’t join the body heat in disappearance. The mixture of sweat and morning dew is still everything Woojin’s sense of smell can identify. It forces him never to forget their close proximity; their arms on each other, their lips on each other. His human-like blemishes and his lighter, pinker skin tone that Woojin can finally say he has  _kissed_.

His voice cracks through his laments. He cries for when Jihoon turns into a distant memory later on in his life. He weeps for when he will eventually forget what he looked like, what he sounded like, and what he felt like.

“Jihoon-ah…” he calls, the same way he had called for his mother that day, but this time wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Woojin can’t bring himself to open his eyes and face anywhere but the now damp white shirt, knowing Jihoon is nowhere to be found. He can’t bring himself to face that he is alone in the forest for the first time in his life. He imagines himself without the company of the young man with broad shoulders and the same, boring outfit, and he breaks.

Woojin refuses to face his surroundings. His mind is far away. He doesn’t see the crowd around him. All eyes are brimming with tears, hands are covering their mouths in disbelief, and the dead quiet surrounds Woojin. He doesn’t notice all of this.

It takes a long time before he becomes aware of the heartbroken voice of the lost spirit’s friend calmly calling his name. “Woojin-ah.”

 

 

 

After a few minutes, or more than an hour—it is unclear how much time has passed, with a gloved hand, Jisung gingerly pats Woojin’s shoulder. Woojin does not look up.

“Woojin-ah,” he utters sadly.

The spirit pauses to take a deep but shaky breath before proceeding.

“Let’s go.” he utters softly.

Woojin nods ever so slightly, with his face still buried in Jihoon’s clothes.

 

 

 

Soon, in the dark, he walks slowly with the shirt still clutched to his chest. The kids follow him wordlessly as Jisung instructed, with their heads hanging low.

“Stay close to me.” Woojin manages to say to them.

After a long period of hearing just the ambient summer night noise, Woojin’s ears perk up at the sudden sniffling.

He turns to see all of the children tearing up.

“I’m sorry.” one croaks guiltily.

Woojin breathes. “Don’t be.”

Jisung spares them a worried look, but quietly lets Woojin say whatever he can bring himself to say instead.

It’s extremely difficult for the twenty-year-old to keep his composure, too. “It’s not any of you guys’ fault.”

 

 

They cross familiar paths. They pass by familiar places. Woojin cannot bare to see the tree before his eyes—the tallest tree in the forest, where he had beaten Jihoon several times in reaching.

But as if his eyes are glued to the view, he stares at the clearing beyond the other evergreens that cover it, where he and Jihoon lay under the same view. Where they lay under the same stars. The lot is empty. The ever-breathtaking view is wasted on no audience.

Come to think of it, this is only the second time he’s stayed inside the forest until nightfall. Dawn is breaking and he’s still here.

He does not bother to wipe his tears now. He allows them to fall continuously while he weakly walks his way past the places that hold memories bound in his heart. He lets them drip on the shirt he’s still tightly gripping as if it will disappear too.

When he finds a pair of bare feet standing in front of him and his eyes trail up to meet Minhyun’s gaze, he expects the latter to be angry at him, but instead, he gets pursed lips and teary eyes.

“You’re strong.” Minhyun says. “I’m sorry, and thank you.”

It ends just like that, Minhyun’s words succinct and sincere as they are. Woojin cannot filter the pained expression he meets him with.

Not much later, he hears several voices in his head, all of which he recognizes. Instead of being frightened like the kids right behind him, he feels as if he is met with the comforting embrace of a collective he will never encounter again. He feels warm. He feels welcomed for the last time.

One of the voices is Sungwoon’s. “I’m sorry. You must be hurting so much. Thank you for being  _here_ , and be careful on your way back.”

One of them is Guanlin’s. “You made him happier than we ever could. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Woojin.”

“Thank you.”

“We’ll miss you, too.”

Lastly, when the entrance is close by, when Woojin can vaguely make out the large stone Jihoon stands—used to stand—beside every day in awaiting his arrival, Jisung offers him a warm smile, though Woojin clearly sees the melancholy behind it.

“For many things, thank you.” he says. “For a long life will never amount to the magnificence of a joyous one, for a living soul. You gave him the latter.”

Jisung, with his gloved hand, holds Woojin’s own hand in gratitude, in comfort, in sympathy, in respect.

“Most of all, you gave him yourself. You shared each other. You shared the most divine element ever to be found in a forest like this. You shared love.

“For being the dear other half of it, thank you.”

 

 

 

Woojin will have to endure this one-of-a-kind aching of his heart for the rest of his years without telling another human being. He decides, without a doubt, he would much rather bare it than to never have met Jihoon in this lifetime. His eternal gratitude is to a beautiful soul who existed, for his past summers.

 

**Author's Note:**

> edited 181106
> 
> i always plan author's notes even before i'm halfway through a fic, but now that i'm finished & i have to write one, i don't rly know what to say or where to start.
> 
> thank you, thank you so much, for reading. i wish i had more accurately drawn out the range of emotions i felt while just thinking about this au, or was skilled enough to, but i hope you felt them enough, though i am rough around the edges. <3
> 
> this was inspired by hotarubi no mori e (into the forest of fireflies’ light) and [the shower](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PuU29aVGb5E) by iu reminded me of them while i was writing this. title is also taken from the song.
> 
> and lastly, happy (last day of) 2park week, and happy woojin day!


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